a friend and i broke into a house one night, on our way home from the bars. the house was abandoned and slated for demolition the next week. the front door was open, so i guess i can't exactly say we broke in. we just wandered around a little. then we picked up some rocks and broke a couple windows because, hell, they were gonna be broken anyway.
― gypsy mothra (gypsy mothra), Friday, 17 February 2006 20:17 (nineteen years ago)
I see that breasts are in again,
that is to say,
breasts that are out are in.
Breasts that are in
are out.
Though no breast is ever wholly in or wholly out,
some are more in than out.
They also seem to be most in if they are up when they are out.
Gravity is defied.
They stand up and out,
round and hard on top
and look kind of like a bottom.
But their bottoms look nothing like a top.
And cleavage implies a clear separation between the two,
a twain, as it were,
a division formed most prominently
by pushing them together.
Their division is most in when they are out,
most up when they look like a bottom
and most distinctly separate when they are crammed together.
This poem needs a point though.
Nipples,
being the points of breasts,
are most pointed when they are erect,
providing a visual diversion
from the smoothness
and roundness
of up and out and together.
Nipples are up and out and apart,
but, women,
when their nipples are most up
and most out
and most apart
cover them with arms and hands and
strategically placed jackets and bags and bundles and books and babies.
But if a woman wears her breasts
up and out and together,
just barely inside
a scoop neck top,
and a stray breeze chills her
and her nipples become more out
and up and apart
and my eye falls across her chest,
even if I am admiring,
even if I am approving,
even if I am supportive,
even if I am merely seeing,
it goes without saying
that I should not be saying
anything about seeing her breasts.
In fact, if I do,
I'm a sexist pig,
a lecher,
a mysoginist,
a dirty old man
more focused on the objects
than on the she
who placed them there,
and consciously chose
to push them together,
and lift them up,
to swell them round and hard on top,
to stress thier twain
by cramming them together,
revealing her bottom
that she wears on top.
Now, I see that breasts are in again,
and if you have them,
you can show them.
And, If you show them
I will see them
But, this being a new century and all,
if you show them and I see them
I'd never say I saw them in public.
― Allyzay Rofflesberger (allyzay), Friday, 17 February 2006 21:33 (nineteen years ago)